Ashen Echoes
"I thought you were dead."
Quinn peered over the top of her book, raising an eyebrow at the small, skinny figure standing at the foot of her bed. The squire's gaze glittered with hard defiance, his thin arms folded tight as he pouted at her.
Her stomach churned at the sight of him. In the week since her confinement, Quinn had done everything possible to avoid the squires stationed across the Prydwen. Not because she felt guilty that they had been disciplined over the molerat incident - although she did feel guilty about it - but because they were everything that she should have had with Shaun.
"Well, you thought wrong," she said bluntly, and raised her book again, blocking him from view. The moment he was out of her sight, her racing heart settled slightly, the tightness in her chest easing enough to let her breathe again. God, being here was difficult. It was so difficult.
"You weren't awake or anything," said the squire, his high voice laced with resentful curiosity.
Quinn sighed and lowered her book into her lap, fixing him with her best 'annoyed parent' stare. She felt a small twinge of satisfaction as his rebellious glare faltered into uncertainty, and let him stew in it for a moment longer before speaking.
"You're mad that you got in trouble for your mistake," she said, knowing full well it was actually her mistake. The guilt bit harder, but she held her tongue. Dropping Carson and Rachel into the shit for their part in the molerat fiasco would result in a lot more than the slap on the wrists that the squires had received. "What's your name, kid?"
"Squire Cooper," he said, looking at his feet.
"Your first name?"
"Josh."
"And your parents?"
"Field Scribe Cooper and Knight-Sergeant Cooper."
"Pretty cool roles, huh?"
Josh frowned, eyeing her with suspicion. Quinn supposed the word 'cool' wasn't thrown around a lot on the Prydwen. She continued to look at him, smiling blandly, while her heart hammered so hard against her chest it felt like her ribs were about to snap. Josh glanced around quickly and then gave her a little grin.
"Yeah, it's pretty cool," he agreed, his face lighting up with excitement. "When I'm older, I want to be a knight-sergeant, just like my mom."
"What about a paladin?" Quinn said, her smile cracking into the real thing. There was something endearing about the boy.
His eyes went wide. "You think I could be a paladin?"
"Yeah, why not? Aim high."
"No, but a real paladin? Like Paladin Danse?"
The way Josh said Danse's name sounded like he was talking about a celebrity. Then again, to these kids, maybe he was exactly that.
"Do you like Paladin Danse?" she asked, thumbing the edge of her book absent-mindedly.
"He's the best!" Josh sat on the end of Quinn's bed, his face filled with wonder. "The best soldier ever, and Elder Maxson's most trusted officer. Ever." His voice suddenly became a hushed whisper, the tone of wild rumour and scandalous gossip. "And...he's sponsored a vault dweller from before the war. He was frozen for five hundred years in a block of ice. Paladin Danse found him and melted him with his laser rifle, and asked the vault dweller to join, and the vault dweller said yes."
"He?" Quinn felt mildly peeved that the rumours had gotten her gender wrong.
Josh nodded solemnly.
"Check my footlocker at the end of my bed."
Throwing her a confused look, Josh obliged. The dramatic gasp when he opened the box was enough to fill her with silent laughter, and when he stood up, holding her vault suit, she had to fight to keep her face straight.
"The vault dweller gave you his suit?"
Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'm the vault dweller."
Josh frowned, processing the conflicting information. He glanced at the suit, then at her, and then back to the suit again. His face suddenly lit up, and he bounced from foot to foot, still clutching the suit, and almost threw himself on the bed as he launched into a barrage of questions about pre-war life.
Quinn answered as best she could, and found, to her great surprise, that she enjoyed the exchange. It was almost therapeutic, talking about the past, and the way Josh hung onto her every word calmed her fluttering heart in a way whiskey never had before.
As she talked, some of the other squires drew closer, inching in to listen about baseball and television shows and Twinkie bars and walks in the park and…
A group of children sat around her, some at her feet, staring up in wide-eyed amazement, while others perched on crates or other soldiers' beds. Quinn blinked. Where had they all come from...and when?
"Then what?" Josh asked eagerly, still holding her vault suit. "What else happened at picnics?"
"I-" began Quinn, feeling suddenly overwhelmed when a sharp voice made them all jump.
"Joshua Cooper!" A man stood behind the gathering, his hands on his hips as he glared down at the collection of squires that Quinn had amassed. Some of them shrieked in surprise, falling off the crates with a bump; others simply scurried to their feet and ran away. Within seconds, Josh was the only one left, frozen in the face of the man's wrath.
"What have I told you about leaving your position on the ship?" the man said, glaring at him. "Elder Maxson hasn't put you here for fun and games. You are here to learn. And after the trouble you caused last week, I would have thought you'd be on your best behaviour to make up for it!"
"Sorry, Dad," Josh said, staring at his feet.
"I hope you are. Now give this soldier her things and get back to your station before I tell your mother!"
Josh jumped to his feet, handed Quinn her vault suit with a mumbled apology, and then ran off without looking back.
"Sorry," Quinn said sheepishly, feeling guilty all over again. "I didn't know they weren't supposed to wander the ship."
"It's his fault, not yours," said Field Scribe Cooper, giving her a warm smile. "And I suppose introductions are in order. I'm Stephen Cooper, Field Scribe, as I'm sure you can see." He gestured to his uniform and then stuck out his hand.
Quinn shook it. "I'm Quinn. Resident pre-war relic and supposed knight, though Cade has me here for a bit of R'n'R at the moment."
Stephen's eyes went wide, and Quinn had to bite back a laugh. His son was the image of him. "Oh, so you're the vault dweller? Fascinating!" He peered at the vault suit in her lap, nodding with recognition. "I wondered what that was. Absolutely wonderful. But...what's R'n'R? Is that pre-war?"
"Oh, sorry, yeah. Means 'rest and relaxation.'"
"Ah...yes. I'd heard about that. Word gets around quickly on a small ship."
"What have they been saying?"
"Nothing much. Just that you'd lost...that you were grieving, and that Knight-Captain Cade felt it was best to give you time to recover." Stephen smiled again. "We're a tight-knit family and we poke our noses in each other's business, but generally speaking, we try not to gossip when it comes to the loss of loved ones. We all know that fear is consistently close to becoming a reality."
Quinn nodded, but didn't say anything. Her throat felt tight again.
"You seem to have quite a way with children, though," Stephen went on. "And your pre-war knowledge far outstrips everyone else's on this ship, as far as history is concerned. Education is important for us, and Elder Maxson in particular has put emphasis on our squires."
He frowned and glanced back in the direction his son had left, but then brightened up almost immediately. "My sister, Michelle, teaches the children pre-war history. I'm sure she would love to have your priceless knowledge in her lesson plans. And it would be a good way to keep you busy, if you find yourself restless."
Quinn considered this. She had been going back to Cade for first aid lessons, but there was still a lot of empty time left to fill. Glancing up at Stephen, she gave him a shy look. "If I did, do you think someone would be able to teach me about the wasteland in general? I've been out of the loop for about two hundred years now."
"How about this? If you help Michelle, I'll teach you myself."
"And Michelle won't mind me butting in on her lessons?"
"If anything, I think she'll welcome the help."
Quinn paused, riddled with uncertainty. Her solitude had served her well so far; she didn't particularly want to give it up. But Carson had been nagging her to keep herself busy, recommending helping Cade in the sickbay as a place to start. She didn't want to be near Cade again just yet. His evaluation had taken a lot out of her.
Stephen waited patiently, wearing a polite and unobtrusive expression; Quinn had a feeling that if she refused, he would accept graciously. That alone made her soften towards him. No expectations, no demands - just an offer, if she wanted it.
Quinn stuck out her hand. "In that case, we have a deal."
Smiling widely, Stephen placed his palm in hers and shook. "Excellent. And on that note, I must take my leave. I have duties to attend to, as well as letting Michelle know that you will be joining her soon enough. Ad Victoriam, sister." He saluted her, a gesture that Quinn returned, and then left.
The book in her lap suddenly seemed dull, the urge to wander returning in full force, despite the fact Quinn had explored every inch of the Prydwen three times over since Danse had left. She knew every nook and cranny in the twisting, metal maze, every guard patrol, every haunt of every noteworthy soldier. Carson's favourite place to lurk was on the walkways of the upper deck, out of the way of everyone else, but not slumming at the bottom of the ship.
Actually, Quinn thought to herself, I haven't seen him at all today. Odd.
Putting her book and vault suit back in her footlocker, she set off up the stairs to the upper deck with the mission of finding her friend. And find him she did; however, Carson was not alone.
Quinn paused halfway along the walkway, watching the person stood next to him with a beady eye. The stranger wore the typical orange jumpsuit; it clashed horribly with his hair. Over the top he had on a brown bomber jacket, and something clunked into place in Quinn's head. That was a lancer's bomber jacket.
Kapraski.
Quinn paused, unsure if she was intruding on something; her curiosity got the better of her. Shuffling back a little so she was just out of sight, she watched, wondering what they were talking about. Nothing happened.
Starting to grow bored, Quinn straightened up and turned to leave, just as she saw Carson move out of the corner of her eye. Her head whipped back to face them, and she watched with mounting anxiety as Carson suddenly reached out and grabbed Kapraski's hand. Kapraski jumped and looked at him, and Carson stared at his feet, still holding onto the other man's hand. There was a long pause, and Carson seemed to lose his nerve, trying to tug his arm away from Kapraski. But Kapraski held on, saying something that Quinn couldn't hear. Carson clearly did, though, because his head snapped up in the lancer's direction, his entire body rigid with shock.
Kapraski tugged Carson gently forward, bringing his free hand up to touch Carson's face, his thumb caressing the knight's cheek with a softness that didn't match his stocky frame. Kapraski hesitated, and then leaned in, pressing his lips against Carson's.
Quinn stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to muffle the yell of joy that was bursting to break free, before creeping back down the walkway. She was definitely intruding now, and they deserved their privacy.
As softly as she could manage, Quinn made her way back down the stairs, and was almost immediately confronted by Rachel. Perhaps her face was the image of guilt, because the knight-sergeant raised an eyebrow at her, and then smirked.
"Hey. Wanna get off this old rust bucket for a while?"
"I, uh…Cade says I can't." Quinn fidgeted, wondered what Rachel had planned. "I have to stay on the-"
"Oh, I know that," Rachel interrupted, waving her hand. "But I spoke with the good doctor and he's agreed to let you leave the Prydwen for a while, so long as you're under my supervision. I thought you were probably going a bit stir crazy by now, being cooped up in here."
She was allowed to leave the ship! Grinning from ear to ear, Quinn bounced on the spot. "Really? When? Can we go now?"
"You're like a kid!" laughed Rachel. "Yeah, we can go now." She motioned for her to follow, and the two of them made their way through the ship to the outside deck, Quinn nearly skipping with excitement every step of the way.
The wind whipped through her clothes as they reached the fresh air, and Quinn breathed in deep, her eyes scanning the vast wasteland before her, the horizon broken by the crumbling city skyline. Rachel was halfway towards the vertibirds before Quinn noticed, and she had to run to catch up with the knight-sergeant. By the time Quinn reached her, Rachel was bickering with one of the lancers.
"She's not allowed on! She's grounded!" the lancer insisted, folding her arms.
"For Christ's sake, Cade has given me permission to escort her," Rachel snapped. "If anyone pulls you up on it, say I threatened to break your nose or something. I'm sure they'd believe you."
The lancer considered Rachel for a moment, and then rolled her eyes. "Fine!"
"Hey, less of the attitude." If Rachel's voice had been sharp before, it was nothing compared to now. It sounded like it could cut diamond with ease. "I'm not one for pulling rank, but I bet the other knight-sergeants don't get any of this shit."
With a paling face, the lancer sat up straight in their seat. "Yes ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."
"Better." She nodded to Quinn. "Come on, before all this official crap gives me a migraine."
"Yes...ma'am," Quinn said with a smirk as she clambered into the vertibird. Rachel batted her lightly across the back of the head as she went, before following her inside.
Quinn's stomach lurched as the aircraft dipped towards the earth, and she clutched at the metal supports, suddenly feeling as if she was about to tumble straight out to the ground below. When they touched down, she almost flung herself out, staggering as her feet hit solid ground. Her body reeled, the absence of the subtle swaying of the airship throwing her off-balance. Rachel grabbed hold of her at the last second, pulling her upright before she fell.
"You alright?" she asked, frowning.
"Yeah, just...acclimatising to not being six hundred feet up in the air anymore." Quinn clutched at Rachel, afraid she would keel over if she let go.
"Acclimatising?" The knight-sergeant gave her a sly grin. "You're starting to sound a little bit like Danse."
Quinn flushed and bit her lip. The mere mention of Danse was enough to make her stomach turn. He had drifted in and out of her head since he had left, her anger ebbing away almost immediately with the discovery of her vault suit. Quinn had pushed each intrusive, stupid thought away without mercy. Danse was not here. There was no point dwelling on his absence.
The vertibird took off without ceremony, spraying them both with grit and dust. Quinn coughed as it got in her nose, eyes, and hair, while Rachel let out a stream of swear words so strong even Quinn was taken aback.
"I'll report that stuck-up little bitch to Danse when he gets back," she snarled, spitting out a mouthful of dirt with such venom, Quinn wondered how the lancer had had the balls to sass Rachel in the first place. Rachel's face relaxed as she turned to Quinn. "You doing alright? Can you walk?"
"Yeah. Think my legs have caught up with the change of scenery."
The knight-sergeant let go of her, and Quinn took a few steps gingerly, testing herself. There wasn't so much as a wobble. Grinning, Quinn trailed after Rachel who gestured to her as she walked away. She took in every detail of the landscape, wanting to drink it all in before her eventual return to confinement. For miles, all she could see was rolling hills of washed out dirt and dead grass, the skeleton of Boston a macabre backdrop.
Quinn's senses felt like they were overloading. Life on the Prydwen had been a muted existence, the endless steel and artificial lighting, the faint, industrial smell of car workshops becoming as familiar to her as her own voice.
Now, however, everything felt so…
Bright wasn't quite the word. The colours of the wasteland were still muted, but they were tones of earthy browns and greens, dashed with a hint of ashy highlights. They were a stark contrast from the cool, dark greys of the Prydwen's metalwork, and the harsh greens and reds of its lighting.
A gust of cool wind blew the remaining traces of grit from her skin, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the faint sensation. It was good to be free from the stifling atmosphere of the ship.
Thud.
Quinn walked straight into Rachel, and fell backwards with a bump. The woman was like a boulder, and she simply stared down at Quinn, looking uncharacteristically sombre. Rachel offered out a hand, and Quinn took it, allowing herself to be pulled up. As she dusted herself down, Rachel sat down on a nearby rock as she reached into her uniform pocket, pulling out a battered, silver zip light with the Brotherhood symbol scratched into the metal. A cigar followed. She lit it and dragged deeply, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.
The hand holding the cigar was shaking.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked back at Quinn. "Cade said you'd lost your husband and your kid. Is that right?"
After the way everyone else had been delicately tiptoeing around the issue, Rachel's bluntness caught Quinn off guard. She nodded before she could stop herself, her insides squirming horribly at the question.
Rachel made a small noise and dragged, more desperately this time, exhaling the smoke in a great gush of air. "He asked me if I would be willing to talk to you. Figured it would do us both some good. I agreed, but...fuck. This is harder than I thought it was going to be."
A lead weight dropped in Quinn's stomach as the pieces clicked together in her head. "You were a mother?"
"I still am. It's not something you ever just stop being." Rachel stared at the end of her cigar, watching it smoulder. "But in truth...my daughter is still alive out there, somewhere. And...I think your son is, too."
"I...no, he's dead!" Quinn insisted, realising too late that she had just confirmed Rachel's suspicions. Time seemed to stop, her heart racing as a chill swept over her. Shaun. Shaun. What would happen now? What questions would she get? Would they find him? Would they know?
"Relax," said Rachel. "Your business is your own. I just knew from the moment I heard. I've seen grieving parents before, but yours is a different kind of grief. More complicated. Kind of...kind of like mine."
"I don't understand," Quinn replied quietly. How the hell could Rachel Marguerie know what she was going through? With growing apprehension, she began to feel that perhaps she didn't want to know.
Rachel flicked the ash off the end of her cigar. "My surname wasn't always Marguerie. I only became Mrs Rachel Marguerie…"
Rachel paused, savouring the name with a faint smile.
"...when I married George. He was…I loved him. Met him on a tour of the wasteland in my early days in the Brotherhood, and although he never signed up with us, he agreed with our ideals to the letter. Really admired me for what I did."
Her eyes became unfocused as she drifted into the past. Then they snapped back to Quinn with a sudden fierceness. "Ever heard of a group called the Enclave?" When Quinn shook her head, Rachel went on, "Bunch of assholes, in short. Started a war with the Brotherhood around ten years ago that got a lot of our best killed, Paladin Krieg included."
Quinn's ears perked up at Krieg's name, but she barely had time to dwell on it as Rachel carried on talking.
"Think they own the country; think they're the government. But I did my duty - we all did our duty - and we fought them off." She grinned. "Not long after, I became pregnant. Post-war party and all that.
"I took leave and we moved to a Brotherhood settlement in DC. Secluded, but well defended. Pockets of the Enclave still existed, and they threw the occasional attack at the Citadel. Nothing that couldn't be handled, but it always worried me that one day something big might happen. I didn't want my daughter being raised in an area that was always at risk of an assault."
"That seems sensible enough," said Quinn, wondering where the story was going.
"You'd think so." Another drag on the cigar, adding to the increasingly growing cloud of smoke. "I thought so."
Rachel stretched out with a groan and began tapping her feet on the ground, sending small puffs of dust up with the rhythm of her impact. Quinn watched her carefully, noticing pale skin had taken on a grey tinge, and her mouth had become a thin, hard line of dread.
She's playing for time, she thought to herself, as Rachel continued to do everything except talk. Quinn waited patiently, her stomach twisting, wondering what was coming. It had to be bad if it was reducing the steely knight-sergeant to a nervous, jittering mess.
"Eventually, I went back," Rachel said suddenly, the words coming out in a forced, hurried stream. "It killed me to leave them behind, but it had to be done. Caps were running short, and...I missed the Brotherhood. I missed being on the field. But, I still went back to visit them every time I had leave, even though I had to trek halfway across the Capital Wasteland to get to them. That's, uh, D.C. to you."
Quinn nodded in appreciation at Rachel's explanation.
Rachel gave her a weak smile. "But not long after Cutler…" She paused. "You know about Cutler, don't you?"
"Danse told me."
"I thought as much. The look on your face when I mentioned him last week…I didn't think anyone else but those involved knew about it. You two must be close."
Quinn shrugged. "I guess so."
"Nah. I know so. All jokes about mannerisms aside, it's pretty obvious to me that you get along pretty damn well, because that's not something Danse would share lightly. And that's a good thing. He needs someone he can depend on, rather than just being the rock for everyone else all the time." Rachel stubbed out her half-finished cigar and threw it away. There was a pause, and then she immediately lit up another. "Anyway...not long after Cutler, I received news that…that..."
Her face darkened, and Quinn sensed a bombshell was imminent. It was in the way Rachel held herself, jaw clenched, arms close to her chest, the cigar jittering in her fingers, spraying ash everywhere. The knight-sergeant tried a few times to speak, puffed on her smoke, and then almost threw the words out.
"...that the last remnants of the Enclave had bombed the settlement."
Rachel jammed the cigar in her mouth, the tip quivering as she inhaled from it over and over, the smoke becoming so thick around her, she became little more than a silhouette.
Quinn was horrified. "But...but why?"
"Maybe a way of saying 'fuck you' to the Elder. I don't know. It doesn't matter - it was a settlement of civilians, a settlement of families with children. My little girl was only six, for God's sake."
Rachel broke off, and from the depths of the thick smog, Quinn heard sniffing, but nothing else. After a while, the smoke dispersed, and she saw Rachel wiping at her eyes with her free hand, tears evading her fingers and rolling down her cheeks. The knight-sergeant offered an apologetic smile.
Quinn returned it, and tentatively said, "I'm confused. You...you said they didn't die."
"They didn't," Rachel replied. "They got away."
"Then why…?"
"Elder Maxson ordered a team over there as damage control. The old crowd. Cooper and Cooper, Danse, and a few other forgettable faces. Even though I was part of Danse's squad, I was given permission to remain behind. I declined it. Danse tried to convince me to stay back, but I told him Hell itself would have to swallow me whole to stop me from finding my family. He relented pretty quickly after that, but...kept an eye on me."
She took a deep breath, apparently having forgotten about the cigar burning slowly away between her fingers, and went on. "The place was a mess when we got there. No one left alive. I went straight to the room that had been George's, and found it empty...no bodies."
"What happened to them?"
"I searched the room after everyone else started cleanup, moving the dead, clearing the wreckage, and I found a holotape buried under a pile of rubble. Badly singed, dented. I took it to Danse and asked if there was a way to play it. Cooper overheard and said there was. They set up some equipment in a private area for me, and...it worked.."
There was the pain now. Quinn could see it in the other woman's eyes. Real pain, haunting and raw, so intense it rolled off her, burning everything it touched. She winced as the knight-sergeant stared blankly ahead, apparently unaware her cigar had now gone out.
"It was George's voice," Rachel said finally. "George, telling me he'd managed to escape, and that he was heading east to a nearby cave he knew was uninhabited. Told me how to get there, told me...that he loved me. That he would always love me, and...but he sounded wrong. I couldn't place it at the time, but I knew that he didn't sound like my George. But I had to find him...both of them."
"No one tried to stop you?"
"They wouldn't have dared. Not just because of me, but because of Danse, too. They all knew how important it was, the same way we had all known how important finding Cutler had been for Danse. They offered to come with me, but I had a feeling I had to do it alone. I was right."
Rachel let out a shuddering sigh, and stubbed out her half finished cigar, flicking it away and hugging herself tight. All at once, the fierce soldier looked like a small child, afraid and alone. Quinn wanted to reach out and hug her, but found herself frozen to the spot.
"I found them. I…" Rachel leaned forward, putting a hand to her head, talking at her feet. "Ghouls. Both of them."
Quinn's sharp intake of breath reflected the pain etched in Rachel's face. Ghosts lingered in the hurt that lined her features, ghosts that still lived, whether she wanted them to or not.
"I didn't stay long after that. Just...just long enough to relocate them to somewhere safe. Away from the Brotherhood. Away from me."
Quinn's mouth dropped open. "Away from you? But why? Your daughter is alive. Your husband is alive."
"And I am a knight-sergeant of the Brotherhood of Steel, an organisation known for its hatred of ghouls. An organisation whose morals I uphold, without question." Rachel stared sadly at her hands. "There is no happy ending here, Quinn."
"But…" She couldn't believe it. She didn't want to believe it. "There's nothing wrong with ghouls, for fuck's sake! There's nothing wrong with your daughter or your husband! How could you abandon them like that?"
"Because try as I might, I can't get past what I've been taught, what I believe in. The work I do for the Brotherhood is important-"
"Your daughter is more important! How can you do that to her?"
"Because I love her!" Rachel snapped, suddenly on her feet. Quinn took a step back as the knight-sergeant breathed heavily through her nose, her cheeks stained with patches of red.
"I love my daughter. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think of her. But she doesn't deserve a mother who can't even bear to look at her. She doesn't deserve a mother whose very connections put her life at risk. And...one day, she'll turn feral. So will George. I can't watch that happen. I just...I can't. There is no other option for me - it's better for everyone that she simply thinks I am dead."
The silence that followed this outburst hung heavily in the air, taunting Quinn with the bitter whispers in the back of her mind. 'Shaun', it crooned, scratching at the inside of her skull. 'You abandoned your child because he affronted your morals. You are no better than her.'
"What happened to them?" Quinn croaked as Rachel sat back down again, looking broken.
"I talked with George," Rachel said dully, "and we agreed going our separate ways was for the best. I helped organise safe passage for them to another part of the country, in a ghoul-only settlement. That way, at least my child would grow up in a community that accepted her, with a father that loved her unconditionally. George wasn't happy about the idea of being surrounded by ghouls, but...he wasn't happy about a lot of things, really. He did it anyway. For her. For me."
She rubbed at her eyes again, and then began to pat her pockets. "I send them my wages by courier, so it can't be traced by the Brotherhood. I may not be there for them, but at least I can ensure they eat well."
"Have you seen her since?"
"Once." Rachel pulled out a slightly bent cigar from her pocket, along with her zip lighter, and held them in her hands. "I didn't let them know I was there. She's gotten a lot bigger since I last saw her." She gave a faint smile. "It's amazing how quickly they grow."
"Wait, she's growing up? But she's a ghoul." Quinn was confused. Ghouls were supposed to be immortal.
"Yeah, I thought the same, but no, she's aging. When I first found them, George had become a full ghoul, while she was still slowly going through the early stages. He told me when the settlement was bombed, she had been on the outskirts of town and didn't receive as big a dose of radiation as him. After seeing her since, it's the only reason I can find to explain why she's aging and he isn't."
"Have you asked Scribe Neriah about this?"
"No." Rachel shook her head. "And I never will. No one else knows about this, except…well, except Danse."
"Danse? He's never mentioned it."
"And nor would he. If it's not your business, he won't talk about it."
Rachel had a point there. Why on earth would Danse tell her such intimate details about a woman she barely knew?
Rachel smiled sadly at her. "I don't know how similar this is to your situation, but…"
"My son is with the Institute."
Quinn had no idea what made her say it. The confession had escaped before she could stop it, staining the conversation with her guilt, with her sins. Rachel's mouth fell open as she dropped her cigar on her lap, only noticing when it burnt a hole through her uniform.
"Shit!" She picked it up and jammed it between her teeth, before brushing the hot ash and cinders off herself. Inspecting the damage for only a moment, Rachel quickly turned her attention back to Quinn. "Really?"
"I...oh God," Quinn babbled, panic flaring up inside her. "Please don't tell anyone. I don't want him to die. I don't-"
"Hey, hey," Rachel interrupting, her voice low and calm. "I've just unfolded my biggest secret to you, though God knows why." She frowned. "I didn't plan for this talk to reveal everything about me, and yet here we are. But now I say we have equal reason not to start telling tales on each other, right?"
Quinn nodded, her racing heart settling slightly.
"So...if you want to, then talk to me about it." Rachel leaned back against the rock, chewing absentmindedly on her cigar.
The whole truth...now that was dangerous. But a half truth? Quinn could live with that. She told Rachel that she had found proof on Kellogg that her son worked for the Institute, that he was old and at the end of his life. That he helped with the experiments she hated so much. Quinn left out that she had visited the Institute in person, and that Father was the leader of the organisation. By the time she had finished, the knight-sergeant was in danger of dropping her smoke again.
"Jesus Christ," Rachel mumbled, flicking aside her unfinished cigar. She stood up and moved over to Quinn, pulling her into a gentle hug. She smelled of smoke, engine oil, and something sweet lurking under all the heavier scents. To Quinn's annoyance, she felt herself crying again, clutching tightly at Rachel's clothes. The knight-sergeant held her tighter, making soothing noises in her ear, until suddenly her voice became choked.
Quinn wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, entangled in each other's grief, but by the slight shakes of the knight-sergeant's shoulders, Quinn was convinced she was crying too.
A/N: Angst for Easter. Yaaaaaay.
Happy Easter, everyone! Thanks to my beta, waiting4morning, for their amazing help as always. Thank you to everyone for their reviews! They all make me smile so much. :)
Just a reminder that next week I will be visiting a friend in another part of the country, so there is a chance the next chapter will be delayed. I'll post it as soon as I'm able!
(also, I've realised that this definitely gonna be more than 30 chapters long...I've been planning ahead, and honestly I'm nowhere near the end yet...oops)